Truth be told –
I’m sick, so as a remedy I spit.
No coincidence.
Leaving traces of influence.
Delegating bars like prisons.

My impatience often wears my pencil thin.
Dressing up creation with shades and vintage fits.
Brown skin flesh, that
Ancient spirits have blessed with the gifts,
My presence is felt through the magic of my wand,
Most people just see as a pen.

No wonder I am Leighrick.

Life ain’t fair, cuz in the end everyone loses to Grimm.
Reap the benefits, live divine.
Using the scythe to dissect images in the mirror.
Pieces of love & residue from drugs.

Luna washed me, upon the shores of compassion.

I am a child of the universe.
I have stars for eyes.
A crown that glows,
Considering yourself uncontrolled or dethroned.